


Why?

by magickalmolly



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-09-15 14:42:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9239399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magickalmolly/pseuds/magickalmolly
Summary: Asking why is a good way to find things out.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Merry is 12 and Pippin is a mighty 4 years old. 
> 
> Originally written April 16, 2003.

"Merry?" Pippin peeked around the blueberry bush he was sitting under, his chubby cheeks stained with juice.

Merry stopped filling the basket he was dropping berries into and sighed softly, sitting back on his heels to wait resignedly for the question he knew would come. "Yes, Pippin."

"Why are they called blueberries when they make your hands purple?" Pippin held a hand out as evidence, stubby-fingers stained dark, glistening wet from where he has licked them in a vain effort to get them clean.

Merry scratched his head, screwing up his face in a mask of mock-serious thought, then shot a finger out and wriggled it against Pippin’s belly.

"Because you eat them all before we can get them back to the kitchen, and everyone else feels blue." Pippin laughed and squirmed, swatting at Merry’s tickling finger, then crawled away on hands and knees under the bush. He tried to sneak up on Merry from behind when Merry went back to picking, but Pippin hadn’t learned yet that Merry could hear the rustling of the bushes as he pushed through them. 

"Peregrin Took, don’t you dare." Merry felt rather than saw Pippin’s face drop from a sneaky grin to a pout, and Merry tried not to laugh. "And don’t make that face."

Pippin scuffed his bare toes against the grass and made a face anyway, sharply sticking out his tongue and shoving his hands in his pockets with an exaggerated sigh.

"This is boring," Pippin whined. "Why d’we have to pick blueberries anyway? Why can’t we go down to the river?"

Turning quickly, Merry wrapped his hands around the younger hobbit and plunked him onto his lap, the both of them falling back into the grass.

"Why, why, why?" Merry teased, and tickled Pippin again until he shrieked with laughter and wriggled in Merry’s arms. 

Merry had asked his mother the same question at the beginning of the summer, after she had told him he would be in charge of watching Pippin when he came to Brandy Hall.

"Because Meriadoc, you’re old enough, and little Peregrin doesn’t have any brothers to play with," Esmeralda had answered smoothly, leaving Merry with no room to argue. 

And Merry hadn’t really minded at first; the last time he had seen Pippin he had been a chubby toddler who thought everything Merry did was funny. But now he was a great big four-year-old; according to Pippin himself; and he had discovered a new word; why.

"Merry, why does the sun come up over this hill, and not that one?"

"Merry, why do I have to take a bath when I’m just going to get dirty again?"

"Merry, why can’t I paint the pictures in Uncle Saradoc’s big book?"

"Merry, why do you keep sighing like that?"

Over and over, all summer long, Merry had said "Because Pippin," more times than he could count. But despite it all, Merry kept answering Pippin’s questions as best he could, and those he didn’t know the answers to, he made up. Pippin was his baby cousin after all, and for all his incessant questions and boundless energy, Merry loved him fiercely.

"Come on now, Pip. I think we have enough berries in our basket. Let’s get this to cook, and she’ll bake us a pie for sure."

Pippin hopped off of Merry’s lap at this, and he clapped his hands and danced in a little circle. Merry scooped up the full basket of blueberries in one hand, then Pippin in the other, and Pippin screamed in delight when Merry hoisted him over his shoulder like a sack of grain, carrying him all the way back up to Brandy Hall.

Later that night, with both of their bellies full of blueberry pie and their hands and faces scrubbed clean, dressed in their nightshirts, Merry snuggled back against his pillows, a yawning Pippin tucked into the crook of his arm. Merry had a book propped up against his knees, and was reading a story to Pippin about knights on a great adventure.

"Merry?" Pippin asked sleepily when Merry paused to turn a page. 

Merry sighed softly. "Yes, Pippin."

"Why do you read to me every night?" Pippin turned his bright green eyes up to his older cousin, curious and surprisingly earnest, and Merry was a little surprised to see such a serious gaze on that little freckled face.

Unable to stop himself from smiling softly, Merry wrapped his arm more snuggly around Pippin’s slim shoulders and leaned over to place a kiss in Pippin’s wild curls.

"Because Pippin. You’re my sweet boy, and I love you."

Pippin wriggled at this and blushed a little, but he didn’t look away. 

"But... why do you love me?"

Blinking once, Merry thought for a long moment, trying to come up with an answer that a great big four-year-old could understand. 

Not able to think of any one thing; there were so many; Merry decided to turn the tables on his little cousin and see what he would say. "Why do _you_ love me, Pip?"

"Because my heart tells me to." Pippin answered unhesitatingly, and Merry was taken aback; that was quite an answer from so small a hobbit. But it was certainly better than anything he had come up with.

"Pippin, I think that’s..." but Merry trailed off when he saw that Pippin had fallen asleep, his cheek pressed heavily against Merry’s shoulder.

Closing his book and setting it on the nightstand, Merry blew out the candle there, and then wrapped his arms around Pippin snugly.

"Why do I love you, Pip?" Merry whispered in the darkened room. "Because my heart wouldn’t know how not to."

~fin~


End file.
